


Flaws

by queenofspades (enlightenight)



Series: Warning Boxes Universe [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, depressed fic, flashbacks to all 6 seasons, specifically 1x25 pascal's triangle revisited episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlightenight/pseuds/queenofspades
Summary: Warning boxes.See, there’s something wrong with this universe. Nobody knows it’s wrong. Nobody knows how and why it went wrong. But the thing is, there’s something inherently wrong, and it’s that goddamn warning boxes that pop up sometimes in your life, and force you to do stuff. For Britta and Jeff, it's a simple one:There's a painful memory, and you're gonna relive it.





	Flaws

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I collected some Windows95 style warning boxes with edgy contents in them on Pinterest. I liked the concept as a whole, and while I was supposed to save it for maybe an aesthetic post or something, I've decided to build an AU with warning boxes in them. This is the first story in that series.
> 
> This story isn't beta'd, so sorry for all the possible mistakes. It's 4 am here, I need to sleep.

_you have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve_  
_and i have always buried them deep beneath the ground_  
_dig them up - let's finish what we started_  
_dig them up - so nothing's left unturned_

****

Warning boxes.

See, there’s something _wrong_ with this universe. Nobody knows it’s wrong. Nobody knows how and why it went wrong. But the thing is, there’s something inherently wrong, and it’s that goddamn _warning boxes_ that pop up sometimes in your life, and force you to do stuff.

Britta Perry, 36, working towards a master’s degree now, takes pride in saying she _never_ had one. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t dread the day she’ll finally see one — don’t get her wrong. She, despite never admitting it to anyone, is scared _shitless_ of seeing a box popping up and she will be forced to do what it says. She heard some people getting the _You’re perishable_ one. Which would be totally terrible, she does want to live. She heard some people getting boxes about embracing chaos, and that’s apparently how villains pop up?

It’s weird, it’s wrong and Britta is _sure_ she doesn’t want to see one until she’s on her deathbed.

But that morning, she wakes up in her bed, the light coming from the window is all grey in the middle of July, and she gets her warning box, and murmurs a _fuck_ under her breath. 

 

_The system has found a painful memory you’ve successfully managed to avoid thus far. Would you like to relive it?_

 

There’s no other option. She has to do it.

****

Reliving a memory is strange. Normally, one would expect to see everything through their own eyes, but no — nobody sees themselves, but the problem is that, they don’t relive it through their own body as well. As if their previous self was a camera there, and now you’re just watching that memory while everything you’ve felt that moment is amplified by ten.

If you asked Jeff Winger, he’d given you a long list of memories that he avoided and now is being forced to relive. The time he cut himself, the time his father left, the time his mother yelled at him for driving his father away… There are _so_ many repressed memories, it’s a miracle he can still contain them in a folder that’s been buried _very_ deep in his mind.

_Would you like to relive it?_

He sees the giant cookie Troy’s eating, he sees Ian Duncan with something on his face. He sees Slater, he sees Britta, but he doesn’t see himself. He knows what’s about to come, he knows what he’s about to relive and, to be honest, he’s not sure which part of this particular memory is the most painful part. The part Britta declared his love for him? The part he ran away? The part he kissed Annie of all people?

It’s almost an out of body experience, but he’s still aware of how his heart rate goes up, feeling the cold sweat. He just wants to stay away from the center of attention, but it doesn’t work — he _was_ the center of attention that night. He cannot pick and choose in reliving, he cannot close his eyes and ears, scream infinitely to avoid it. _You’ve managed to avoid it thus far._ For a reason, to be honest. He has _tons of memories_ avoided, but this one is the most dreadful.

He starts paying attention to all the other stuff, it seems easier. 

 

****

Britta _hates_ The Transfer Dance night. She hates every single second of it, and she hates herself for declaring her love to that jerk Jeff Winger, who went ahead and made out with a damn teenager that night. _Sick moron._ She still can’t decide what she hates the most, but she _definitely_ hates everything. She hates Slater for turning it into a competition, she hates the Dean for setting up the dance, she even hates Ian Duncan for getting punched in the face. 

She hears her own voice, echoing in her mind: _I love you._ And kind of everything goes foggy, but the memory still doesn’t end. She stays in that fog, with ringing ears and teary eyes. _I love you._ Did she? Did she _really_ love him?

Reliving a memory, she read once, is a different mechanism. You don’t remember the actual memory itself. You remember the last time you remembered it, the emotions you felt when you remembered it, and it’s like an old CD, written over and over and over again. There are glitches, there are additions, and there are missing things from it. The sentiment never changes. She spoke those three words, in the middle of the whole school. She watched him run away, and she _hates_ him for it.

But then, while she’s still in that fog, she doesn’t _regret_ it. She’s done a lot of stupid things in her life, and this is not even the most stupidest one. It didn’t harm _anyone,_ except for spending a summer in disgusting anxiety, trying to estimate how deep trouble she would be in come September. _No trouble,_ she thinks. She was hailed as a hero. She was _brave_ that day.

And maybe it was part of her deal with Jeff. Them, trying to be brave _despite_ each other. Jeff, who didn’t accept her resignation when she was about to be expelled. Jeff, who watched her dance recital and got her flowers.

And it was him whom she told the story about the dinosaur, when she broke down in tears during Halloween. It was him who reconciled with his dad because of her. They were — and still are — both partners in crime, and also rivals. They could team up in a second, but also work to tear each other down.

 _Opposites attract_ only works in a physics problem, and what they have is beyond being just physical. It feels natural, it feels safe, and it gives the satisfaction of a completed jigsaw puzzle. The complete picture is them against the whole world. She pushes him to be a better person by constantly reminding him there are better options to select. He pushes her to stand up against assholes, by having her practice on him.

As she watches him run away, the pitying looks burning her face, she realises one thing: She would have probably done the same, minus the making out with a teenager part. They’re brave together, but they’re also fundamental cowards when it comes to each other.

 

****

He walks in that corridor for ages. It probably took him less than a minute when it happened, but now, it takes _centuries._ With every step he takes, he curses himself for not going back. _Go back you fucking idiot. You have to go back to her. You have to get out together._ But realistically, when was he _ever_ that brave?

Annie made him feel like he was still young, she made him feel like he still had time to get his shit together. She is a teenager, and with her — or when thinking about her — he doesn’t feel like almost forty, he feels like he is still twenty and there’s an entire life ahead of him. It is a lie, he knows that, but when did that ever stop him? Living through lies is his main schtick after all.

Slater made him feel like he got his shit together. A grown up, an _actual_ grown up with his shit together. Maybe if he still had his job, it could’ve worked out. Then she got all competitive and the illusion went away pretty fast. 

Britta, well…

Britta is the truth. _My deal, Jeff, above all is honesty._ She is honest to herself, she holds a  brave façade, but inside she knows what she is and she isn’t. He used to think it was the opposite — but no. Maybe she believes in frivolous things, chasing dreams that will never become real, but she knows the truth about herself. Which, in turn, makes Jeff see the truth about himself: He’s never gonna get his shit together, he’s never gonna be _whole,_ perfect, flawless as he always presents himself to be. 

He is still that boy, creating a scar with a pair of scissors to gain sympathy. Still that attention seeker, still that _affection_ seeker, Jeff hasn’t changed a bit since seventh grade. 

And there’s not a person on earth he can share this without the fear of being judged, and trust him, Jeff knows _all_ about the fear of being judged. Every single time he looks at a mirror he judges himself — and writing messages on the mirror to be seen when it’s fogged up doesn’t work a single bit. Internet is a liar.

He should’ve gone back to her. 

_Do you love me?_

“Well, that depends on how you define ‘ _love_ ’,” he wants to say now. What is love? Love is his dad walking away without even looking at him, despite claiming that he loved him and he’d get him. Love is his mom saying that she loved him, yet screamed at him at every opportunity, blaming him for her own despair. Love is nothing but a fucking lie, and no, he does _not_ love Britta.

What he feels for her is above love. 

He’s not one of those sentiment fools that go around and talk about how the universe ties them together; but the problem is, _the universe actually ties them together with a fucking elastic band._ Every time they try to get away from each other, they get back together — and the further away they go, harder they crash. It’s messy, they talk shit all the time to hurt each other, but actually _not_ hurt each other and try to hide their vulnerabilities by shitting on the other. 

Once they get back together, they heal each other like cleaning the infection in a pretty messy wound: It hurts, it bleeds everywhere and there’s occasionally alcohol involved.

He decides to text her.

 

****

She sends the first text: _You made out with a fucking teenager._

His reply, which apparently is intended to be a first text: _I was a fucking coward that night._

They meet up, in his apartment. Nothing happens. Just them, the wobbly table — it amazes Britta that how he never fixed it, or got a new one, after Chang’s adventures with a saw. They stare at each other, something somewhere _clicks,_ and they start talking about all the stuff they’ve been through.

The secret sex year, a thrilling sequel to the romantic-comedy that’s their lives apparently. Hiding from The Study Group that never has any problem with vilifying them at an instant. The group that now reduced to a Whatsapp group with its members spread all around the world, they’re the only ones left behind.

Third year with all its madness, Jeff’s meds that rile him up, and Britta’s adventures as a psych-major. The realisations they had about themselves: How she subconsciously punishes herself for crimes she never committed, and how he can no longer hide behind the _I don’t give a shit_ attitude.

Fourth year with all the anxiety of an unforeseeable future, Jeff’s graduation but possible jobless new life, Britta’s _relationship_ with Troy — which is at best abusive, but Britta is always so good at ignoring the signs anyway. 

Fifth year, coming back and trying to _change_ things, ending up with worse than they were before. The marriage proposal, making them both realise whenever there’s uncertainty, they run to each other. 

Sixth year with just letting _everything_ go, and maybe reaching to some closure.

And now, two months after leaving Greendale, here, at Jeff’s couch, talking while no alcohol involved this time. After trying to stay away from each other, and finally coming back to the equilibrium state. 

They don’t kiss, or straight up walk to the bedroom. The physicality of it is in the second place, now they have wounds to clear and amends to make.

“You shouldn’t have walked away,” she says, bitter.

“I shouldn’t have,” he replies, solemn. “But then again, when was I ever honest with someone?”

“You were honest,” Britta raises her head, catching his blank stare. “In your dad’s house, about the scar.”

He dismisses it with his hand. “That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

Jeff doesn’t have an answer for that. Honesty always seems like a _ritual_ to him, with some prerequisite conditions. Instead, he shakes his head. “I don’t _love_ you,” he says. She doesn’t respond, he doesn’t expect her to. It’s a silence full of expectations. _Finish that thought,_ she dares him without even moving a muscle on her face.

“What we have, it’s not love.” He clears his throat, _when did making a speech become so hard?_ “It’s beyond love. Love is a perishable feeling. It ends. It changes, becomes mouldy and starts to hurt. You can’t cut it off to use the rest, it’s all or nothing. What we have is more like a trust fall.” He holds her hand, and looks straight into those ocean blue eyes. “We fall back to each other, knowing the other will be there to catch no matter what, no matter how high it is where we fell off. It’s nonperishable. Six years, we’ve been through hell and back, and we’re still here. Together.” He tries to grin, but it doesn’t work. “What’d you say?”

“I’d say we’re addicted to each other,” she murmurs. “Maybe they were right, maybe we were toxic — but not to each other. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. What I know is, even though you stop being an addict to something, there’s always the possibility of falling back.” She shrugs. “But it’s better than most addictions. We could’ve been addicted to heroin.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughs. “This body is a temple, kitten. I would _never._ ”

She shakes her head, and starts laughing, almost hysterically. 

“We just can’t go _further,_ can we?” He asks, when she stops.

“Maybe we’re supposed to go further _together._ We’ve been alone for so long…” She clears her throat. “I’ve thought about this. We’ve _never_ had people in our lives to support us. Troy had Abed, Abed had Troy — they had to learn how to be independent. Shirley had her family. Annie had the entire group backing her. You and I, though, we were the outliers. The group didn’t know half the shit we’ve gone through — we would never tell them, they would never ask.” 

She reaches to her bag, gets a cigarette, and lights it. Jeff doesn’t complain, waiting for her to finish.

“Maybe it’s time for us to learn how to co-exist,” she says amidst the smoke.

Their fingers entwine, and they smile. Tired, almost exhausted smiles — slight, but lighting up their eyes.

“Let’s go to bed,” Jeff says. “We don’t have to get undressed, we can just lay down and sleep.”

They do exactly that, that night and in many others. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always welcome! <3


End file.
